


fleeting seconds (wish you would hold me for more)

by zellymaybloom



Series: to live in this world for your sake [2]
Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, a world where they start off their friendship properly in rio, alex is just a dumbass, dont HAVE to read the last fic but basically, henry is repressed only by himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellymaybloom/pseuds/zellymaybloom
Summary: Henry and Alex have a tradition where they kiss on New Years. 5 times they do, 1 time they don't. Henry isn't sure how much it means.ORin a world where Rio doesn't spark a rivalry, but instead a friendship, Alex kisses Henry every year instead of Nora.





	1. 2016

**Author's Note:**

> tell me about typos pls and thank. enjoy! read my last fic in this series to see how they met for the first time at rio and how it wasnt utter garbage because henry doesnt ask him to lEAVE

Sweat, heat, and booze ruin the hard work of countless designers at the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala. Contrary to what the black, silver, and gold decorum may lead you to believe, it was not a classy event. Or at least, it wasn’t for very long.

Alex has been telling Henry about the planning for this event since the week after Ellen Claremont won the presidency. The food, the music, the lights. It’d be a big deal, he said to him, and a nice way to up our approval ratings from the get go. Always politics with him, it seems, but he’s more than happy to go.

Right now, Henry nurses a drink at the edge of the dance floor while Alex throws his body far more than what’s appropriate for the song the DJ is playing. He’s been trying to get him on the dancefloor since he arrived. It doesn’t seem like a bad idea, honestly. But, if Henry lets his eyes drift more than three inches to the right or left of Alex’s face, he’s reminded why it  _ is _ a bad idea. Bodies push and press against other bodies both because of the proximity and because of the fact that nearly everyone is grinding. Alex included. It isn’t Henry’s idea of a good time.

Alex seems intent on trying to convince him otherwise. The bite of his lip and thin beads of sweat and the subconscious lick of his lips makes it hard for Henry’s eyes to drift those three inches away from his face. Piano chords bring the overplayed but still catchy tune of “Closer” to an end. The DJ was really planning on playing almost everything from 2016’s Top 40.

People are just starting to fall from the rhythmic high that you get while dancing, wondering when the next song will come. Alex catches his eyes and saunters over and tries to get Henry to meet him halfway with a hand on his hip and beckoning hand gesture that makes Henry’s mouth go dry. He downs his alcohol and looks for the nearest server when Alex gives his wrist a tug.

“You  _ have _ to,” he pleads, still holding Henry’s wrist.

“No, I do not.”

“Why not though! It doesn’t matter if you’re good or not, you just need to let go!”

“Alex, this isn’t my thing I can’t just―”

The volume of the crowd rises, and their movements are picking up. Over the speakers, the drum beat of another generic pop  song that was probably on the radio for a month is starting to play, and Henry is hauled onto the dance floor by Alex with a renewed determination.

“This isn’t hard, you royal prude. Just move your hips and act like your having a good time!” Alex is leading Henry through the crowd, not to the middle, but somewhere deep enough where it’s too much of an effort for Henry to just step out.

Henry can’t help but point out to Alex that there is literally a couple making out a few feet away from them, and that maybe this isn’t the great experience Alex has been trying to sell it as all evening. As he says this a particularly enthusiastic dancer bumps Alex from behind. He stumbles forward a bit, and to Henry’s absolute horror, into his chest. Even more terrifying, Alex grabs onto Henry’s hips as if to push him away, but instead of pushing him away, he just holds him. Henry clutches onto Alex’s hands on impulse and now he’s standing there with Alex holding him and bouncing to the music.

Alex doesn’t apologize for his fall. Alex is slowing his sway as Henry keeps looking back and forth at the hands on his hips and  _ him _ . The song picks up and people are jumping with the beat and twirling with the melody. He’s letting go of his side, and drunk and unashamed, Henry holds on to the hands that pull away. Alex with devilish smirk and wink pulls them chest to chest. Henry’s side is freezing now without that touch, but his chest is burning where he can feel the heat from Alex’s chest.

Finally, Henry says fuck it and lets him self slowly, so slowly, unwind.

It’s… It’s good. He becomes another body in the crowd. Alex is cheering him on, hyping him up on the more reckless songs, and guiding him through line dances. The energy is restless; he could move his body and awkwardly try and move his limbs forever if Alex kept looking at him with his delirious smile.

The two of them power through songs for most of the night, taking a drink from every passing server they find. Henry is hazily aware of having a leg between Alex’s thighs while he grinded down on it to Rihanna’s “Work”, but he isn’t certain. At some point though, Henry is sure that someone slapped his ass. Alex staring them down and getting in their face afterwards feels like a fever dream. Somewhere in his head is the image of Alex licking rimming sugar off his lip as he came back to him.

Later on, he’s going to remember the feeling of calloused fingers laced behind his neck. In the morning, he’ll vividly recall gripping onto Alex’s waist like his life depended on it while Alex did what would be considered a lap dance if they were just sitting down. He’s going to wake up hungover having a dream where the night goes basically the same, except they have sex at the end. Because of that, he’s going to doubt most of those events and brush it off.

Whatever. They’re wasted, and it’s almost 2017.

It’s five minutes until midnight when they finally leave the dance floor, and if he thought the alcohol had hit him earlier, it’s using him as a punching bag right now. Alex unceremoniously pulls him down by the collar and says, “I don’t wanna’ do this anymore” before they stumble through the crowd. He lets himself be guided to a sofa and drops next to Alex with an arm over his shoulder.

“Where’ve you guys been?” June asks, considerably less drunk than they are. She’s draped over Nora with her legs in Pez’s lap on the matching loveseat.

Henry makes unintelligible sounds that he assumes are words while Alex looks to her excitedly and points to him.

“This guy! You should’ve seen him! Dancing! It was great.” Alex drops his head back onto Henry’s chest and closes his eyes. “Wake me up at eleven fifty-eight.” A shock radiates from the point his head makes contact, but Henry is too drunk to feel it.

From the love seat, Pez gives Henry a sly look. He’s holding his phone in a way that would probably concern or annoy him if he were sober. “How’s that?”

“He doesn’t…” Henry murmurs before he pulls out his phone and stares at the clock, waiting for the one minute and thirty-seven seconds it would take until 11:58. Pez, Nora, and June are discussing something, and Henry’s practically going cross-eyed at the screen. Alex asked him though, so he intends on following through. He can make out the conversation just barely, select phrases like “not yet” and “in time” and “eventually”. They say his and Alex’s name a lot.

Once 11:58 does roll by, he gives Alex’s shoulder a little shake. There’s a quiet “thanks”. They don’t say anything to one another. They’re both tired out, most of their fire is gone, and something new is coming.

If Henry were in England, he’d probably be in… Not England. In some vacation home, the New Year having already passed, and himself asleep in a plush bed. He prefers where he’s at now. A warm body next to him with no intention of giving him anything more than company, and a few more friends nearby chiding them for putting so much alcohol in their systems.

The countdown begins, and the expensive lights are flashing in unison with each number. Henry leans forward to pick up a cheaply made silver paper horn. Even at a White House New Year’s Eve party, they’re a must.

He’s looking at Alex who’s shifting under his arm at five.

At four, Alex reaches for his shoulder and pulls him forward so that they’re nose to nose. Henry’s holding his breath.

Alex is cupping his cheek with his hand at three. “I wanna’ kiss someone on New Year’s,” he tells him. Henry drops the silver paper horn.

The clock is at two seconds left, and Alex is chuckling. He’s making the quietest noise of amusement as he hears June say to their right “Wait, oh shit, guys―” to Nora and Pez.

It’s the last second of 2016 and Alex says, like it’s no big deal, “I’m gonna kiss you, so be cool, alright?”

At zero  _ fucking  _ seconds, everyone’s either screaming or making out, and Henry didn’t think he’d be part of the latter, but Alex is pressing forward and playing with Henry’s bottom lip. He gasps, and his mouth is open, and he can’t process a single goddamn thought. Alex takes it as an invitation, and Henry can taste every drink they shared. He wonders if the heat of his body will set the alcohol in his veins on fire.

What a way that’d be to go.

Cause of Death: Spontaneous Human Combustion

Cause of Spontaneous Human Combustion: Alex Claremont-Diaz

Alex kisses him for only a few fleeting seconds as people say “Happy New Year!”, and Henry is stupidly chasing his lips as he pulls away. His hands are still in Alex’s belt loops. The first bits of confetti have just reached them from the high ceiling.

He receives a little pat on his cheek and a silly, “Thanks, man!” before Alex completely falls asleep on him. Henry, dizzy and more pathetically in love than usual, lets him stay there and falls asleep himself.

* * *

He doesn’t know what the hell he was doing last night. There was definitely dancing, but it wasn’t dancing? More like dry humping, he thinks with a shudder. Definitely way too many drinks. He woke up in his clothes from last night and had a dream that Alex was grinding on him to Rihanna’s “Work”, and that Alex was giving him a blowjob when the countdown hit zero.

Yeah, probably not. How did he even get home? He spends his morning trying to piece together the events of last night.

Pez texts him some vital evidence as he’s boarding his jet that afternoon. He includes a message. It simply reads “;) good job!!!”

There’s one poorly lit image, a video with a blurry thumbnail, and a video which clearly depicts Henry being walked to his ride in a drunken stupor.

>  
> 
> _ Image: A blond young man in a white button shirt with the sleeves pushed up under a deep purple vest with a champagne gold bow tie is reclining. Once upon a time there was a black suit jacket. Henry knows because this is him. He slouches back on a black suede sofa, an arm is slung over the shoulders of another man.  _
> 
> _ It’s a curly brown haired hottie in what was probably a sleek black three piece suit with a gold tie. The suit jacket and vest are gone. The black button up sleeves are rolled up and the top button is undone. The tie is loose. That’s Alex. His head is on Henry’s chest. Though it is dark, dim gold mood lighting shines over them. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Video one: A snapchat video has the caption “why did you have to steal my moment :(((((“ in the default text option towards the bottom of the screen. Pez is vlogging as the countdown begins on at ten. He’s making different winky kissy faces with each number. At six, he turns the camera to June and Nora; they do the same as he did. At two, June’s attention is caught by something off camera. She says, “Wait, oh shit, guys—!” and points. The camera turns to Henry and Alex on the sofa. Alex is holding Henry’s hand in his face with one hand, the other concealed, likely on Henry’s waist. Alex says something, and Henry’s eyes go wide before Alex kisses him at zero. Confetti begins to fall, and Pez shrieks in delight. _
> 
> _ The camera pans up to watch the shiny black, silver, and gold flutter down. The quality drops. When it pans down, Alex has just pulled away, giving a feather light tough to Henry’s face before falling to Henry’s shoulder with a light thud. Henry then leans back to lay down on the couch, ever so slowly before his head hits a decorative pillow. He too falls asleep. With Alex still on his chest, he wraps an arm over his back. Alex shifts. It looks like a snuggle. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ Video two: A snapchat video with the eyes looking up emoji at the bottom right of the screen. The video is sped up faster than normal, but not the fastest option. Pez follows behind Shaan and Amy. Each have one of Henry’s arms over their shoulders. They woke him up to escort him to his ride, and he’s just mumbling. Sort of sounds like “no” over and over again. Pez behind the camera is scolding him. A drawn out “stay” bounces through the hall they walk down. _
> 
> _ Pez turns around, cackling. The camera zooms in on Alex slumped against the wall trying to follow them with Nora and June at his side. They don’t look nearly as helpful to Alex as Shaan and Amy are to Henry. _
> 
>  

Well,  _ shit _ . The first thing he fucking did in 2017 was kiss Alex. He doesn’t even remember it. Henry fights the urge to smother himself with his travel pillow.

He turns to Shaan, who sits watching him.

“You saw what happened?”

“No. I stayed on the other side of the room,  _ sober _ ,” he adds, “and mostly just checked in. I only helped you out of the building, into the car,  _ out  _ of the car, and into bed.”

Henry groans. He checks back to his texts with Pez. Pez has sent him “that countdown video was going to be so good on my story ://////“ 

And then immediately after, “but noooooo jefjdkcks you had to get. kissed.”

And after that, “i didn’t even get kissed that’s not faaaaiiir”

Henry wants to leave it at that. He doesn’t have read receipts on, Pez would never know. But, even over text, Henry can hear his congratulatory tone, as if he really accomplished some sort of progress last night. He types out to him, “I doubt he even remembers! I didnt know that happened until you sent me that!!!!!!”

He puts his phone down. Finally, he tries to smother himself with his travel pillow before settling for sleeping on it instead.

He’s only known Alex for about a few months. Alex is witty, caring, and endlessly dedicated. He ignites like a firecracker. It’s sudden. He burns bright at the first contact with flame, but he keeps going. He grows and sparkles with life until the final charge shoots into the sky.

Alex is like that, except he’s like an infinite amount of firecrackers all set in a line, each one brighter than the last.

You’re not supposed to touch firecrackers, Henry thinks. Besides, everyone remembers the light show. The pizazz, the pop, the smoke, and the sparks. No one gives a damn about the match that lit it.

When Henry wakes up from his sulking nap, he notices a text from Alex. It’s a picture of them kissing from a slightly different angle, likely taken by June or Nora.

The message says “lmao we got wild lol ¿¿¿new tradition?? eh?? ;)”

It’s followed by, “sorry if that made you uncomfortable though if you hated it (but like you didn’t come on i’m alex hello heartthrob of the #whitehousetrio)”

And Henry is surprised the weight in his stomach doesn’t immediately cause the plane to start losing altitude.

Henry swallows his heart and shoots back “No its fine we were both shitfaced lol. It can be a tradition IF we remember. which you wont”

“haaaaah you WISH ohohohohoooo but trust me. i w i l l”

And Henry sincerely from the bottom of his heart hopes he does remember, that he does have some slight chance of kissing Alex again.

This is fine. Yeah. It’s fine.


	2. 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it has occurred to me that im a Buffoon and they cant drink so my justification is who's denying them? who's going to look the first son and the prince of wales in the eye and say they cant have a drink. WHO.
> 
> that aside, apologies if location and setting description is vague because? i didnt spend super super long looking into the layout of the white house.
> 
> i didnt plan on this one being longer than the last and SOMEHOW it is which is absolutely appalling to me i was like shit dog, whats supposed to even happen in this chapter?? and then my hands said fuck you !!
> 
> anyway tell me about any errors!!!!

Henry is helping them set up before sundown.

He’s pinning cerulean, rose, and gold ribbons and decals in higher spots where short interns can’t bother to pull up chairs. He’s one of the first people to rush over to the delivery man and carry the cake indoors. He’s the person who thought to double check upstairs when they couldn’t find the table cloths. He taught the assistants to fold napkins into pleated sleeves for the utensils.

It may be the Young _America_ New Year’s Eve Gala, but Henry’s just as tied up in it as Alex, June, and Nora. He’s just more behind the scenes than they are.

He heard that the new lounge chairs were just brought in. His eyes sweep the room for the shipping. Two moving men are carrying it to a corner where they’ve set the lounge area, and Henry trots over to help with arrangement. Before he gets there, Alex appears out of nowhere, already directing them on what way they’re facing and why it has to be exactly thirty-six inches and no closer or farther from the wall.

Alex won’t stop straightening the lapels on his suit jacket and tugging on the collar underneath. The way he keeps moving between the two couches he sets, Henry knows, is just carefully concealed pacing.

“Leave them alone, we can adjust it later,” Henry says on arrival. Alex huffs and rolls his eyes. He turns to the movers and acts like he isn’t related to the English monarchy and jokes, “So demanding, isn’t he? Thank you, by the way for coming here on holiday. If there’s nothing else, go on! Spend the day with your families.” The men, slack-jawed, thank him in return. One of them slap his shoulder awkwardly before parting.

Alex jabs his side. “Oh, now you made me look bad in front of the nice shipping company!”

“Wouldn’t be happening if you weren’t acting so unruly to them in the first place. What’s gotten into you?”

“Just. Planning, you know? It’s a lot. Kinda’ tearing my hair out right now, but who cares?” He shrugs, and it’s so obvious that he’s in over his head and Henry wants to say something to him, but Alex starts to walk away. “I need to go check on the speaker lamps slash cup holders slash the tables that are supposed to go in this thirty-six inch space.”

Henry pulls him back and seats him on the couch. He sits next to him. “You… did not have a stick this far up your arse last year. Come on. The event will be a success even if the side tables don’t seamlessly blend with the sofa. You alright?”

“I mean? I can’t tell you.”

Henry wants to slap him, but instead throws an arm around him and tries to stay light-hearted. “You can’t tell your old chum Henry all your dirty little secrets?”

Alex leans back as he laughs, and Henry suddenly remembers last year. Well, he doesn’t. He doesn’t remember _doing_ what they did last year, but he still remembers the pictures and videos from Pez, and the one from June that Alex sent him.

Hell, there were even a few gifs online. Some people had scouted them out in the background of other people’s videos, but everything was too blurry for anyone to make a real claim. Alas, their “ship” had amassed a small following online. Regardless, it got big enough that they were still asked about that in interviews for most of January. Henry had to go on fake dates with a friend from uni until April. Alex _actually_ dated sometime during the spring. Some intern girl. It didn’t deter everyone though. People were… creative, when it came to their ideas of how the night ended. Nora still thinks its funny to send them the fanfiction.

But, there they were again, the night yet to start, but Alex was under his arm on a sofa in the lounge. They weren’t going to kiss again. They probably _shouldn’t_ kiss again.

“It’s not that ‘I don’t trust you’ can’t tell you, but more like ‘I just don’t fucking know’ can’t tell you. Last year was great! I already know that this is totally going to top last year, but it has to be perfect. That’s just me, I guess.” He nods, and Alex stands up, visibly less tense. “I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something, so I’m going to go check everything for like the millionth time. See you later tonight!”

Henry lets him walk away.

Until guests start arriving, Henry sits at the bar. _Not_ to get so drunk out of his mind that he loses memory of what happened, but to think. He asks for a whiskey and leaves it at that.

Alex has shown no sign of remembering his proposal for a “tradition” in the last few hours. Henry isn’t sure if he wants him to. He _wants_ to kiss Alex. Naturally. But he doesn’t want it to be something that either of them feel forced to do. If Alex remembers, he’s either going to say no, or he’s going to do it because of spite because Henry told him he wouldn't remember. Alex won’t kiss him just for the sake of it.

When The White House Trio welcomes enough guests that they can slip away, Henry hates himself.

He hates himself because the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “You ever find out what you’ve forgotten?”

Alex, who carried such a bright smile, such joy in seeing him just seconds ago, groans, “Ugh, don’t remind me, I don’t want to be on edge all night. I’m anxious? I don’t know. Let’s get a drink.”

He’s desperate, what can he say. He doesn’t want Alex to kiss him heartlessly, but he’s willing to accept every bit of unsolicited affection he can get. If that includes kisses, then he’ll have it.

He latches onto the barest brush of fingertips as they walk to the bar. He lets Alex order some pink cocktail that he’s already forgotten the name of. They knock the glasses together with a satisfying clink. Alex winks at him over the rim of the glass. The pair sit and talk, and Henry begins to feel guilty for wanting anything more.

It’d be nice if he could live like this, and be happy with what they have. He is happy, though. Alex makes his heart do all kinds of acrobatics. Maybe happy is the wrong word. Henry wants to be satisfied; that’s it. He wants to not feel like there’s something more. That they could so easily _be_ something more.

He wishes he could be a little braver, a little bolder. There are moments in time where Henry wishes he could’ve done more, even if it’s just a gesture. He wishes he held his hand at the lake house. In another world, he teasingly plants a kiss on Alex's cheek one day, and it becomes as easy as it is to breath. Maybe if he just toughened up at the right time.

He tries to justify it. Alex… He’s not going to say Alex is straight. Maybe it’s foolish to try and get his hopes up, but it doesn’t seem _right_. It doesn’t add up. That doesn’t quite matter though, even if Alex’s romantic and sexual interests do include men, it feels like his time has past. It’s been a year and a half since they met; if he wanted to do it, he should’ve done it earlier. By now, Alex probably sees him as a sort of brother figure, and that’d be weird right? If he said he was into him?

And what about the crown?

Henry takes a deep breath and stares at him as he shares some political plan he has for when he gets out of college, and he asks himself what he would do for him. The best answer, he thinks, is another question.

What wouldn’t he do for him?

Alex puts his empty glass down and stretches. “You proved you can dance last year, so I’m making you do it again,” he states, and gets up.

Alex with his hip cocked, hands in his back pockets, and head roguishly tilted is about the same height as Henry bar stool level. As he takes the last gulp of his drink, he knows that he’d do anything. He’s not drunk, just pleasantly buzzed, and he’d probably be lying if he tried to give any other answer.

Dancing is as good as he remembers. Better, even. He still hesitates to start, but the rhythm comes to him in time. Henry only has the vaguest recollection of movement paired with a sense of joy from last year, and this time he’s not having an out of body experience. A little less messy. Just as tiring. He’s glad that he’s had less to drink. Now that he’s not black out drunk he can appreciate Alex body rolling to “Shape of You” and try to commit it to memory.

They take more frequent breaks and spend more time with June, Nora, and Pez. The two leave the dance floor early. 11:50 goes by without Alex remembering, Henry isn’t surprised at how disappointed he is, but it doesn’t mean it stops him from feeling like an idiot.

“One more drink?” he suggests, and Alex gladly trails after. Henry glances at the countdown, and comments, “Ten minutes. What are you doing with it?”

“Drinking, aren’t we?”

“Ideally,” Henry nods as he asks for two shots.

They come sliding down the bar, and Alex takes his immediately with a nod to tell Henry to take his as well. He swallows it down, awareness of Alex watching him tamped down by the drinks, and now this shot.

Alex rewards him with a fist bump and looks between him and the glass. His eyes shift around the room and away from Henry, and he wants to ask what he’s looking at or looking for. Then, Alex is giving him the proudest shit-eating expression that Henry has ever seen him make. That he’s ever seen, really. He rapid fire throws a few soft punches at his abdomen. His smile glows as he looks up at Henry, and it’s stupidly endearing.

“I finally remembered what I forgot!” he proclaims.

And Henry’s heart both stops and restarts at that moment. Whatever his brain is plugged into? Someone just cut the cord. He short circuits, and his screaming heart frantically reconnects the wires in his brain because he needs to _stop_ . He needs to reason. It doesn’t _have_ to be the kiss. Maybe he forgot to tell him some nice news. Or, there’s some funny story about June that he wants to tell him. People forget a lot of things, Henry reminds himself. Not everything is about your repressed feelings for your best friend, you know.

Henry uses every ounce of strength he has to sound convincingly interested as he prompts Alex. “What’s been tormenting you?”

“Remember last year? During the countdown, when―” Or maybe Henry is wrong, and everything _is_ about your repressed feelings for your best friend. He isn’t sure if he wants, or is ready to hear what Alex has to say and intends on cutting him off before he explodes.

“Neither of us remember last year, you know that.”

“Well, _yes_ , but the pictures! The ones where we kissed!”

A silence stretches out between them. “Yeah?” comes his nervous affirmation. Henry despises how effortlessly he just says it. It’s just a fact. His additional interpretation holds no meaning. If Alex is going to say that like the obnoxious straight guy he thinks he is, Henry is going to follow along and also pretend like it doesn’t matter.

“You said I wouldn’t remember!”

“You _don’t_ remember.”

“No no, I texted you the next morning! I said we should make this a tradition or whatever because that’d be like, kinda fun ya know? Kiss your best friend on New Year’s! Why not!”

“Um, are you sure?”

“About remembering or about kissing you? Believe me, I remember. Not like, not like I remember kissing you, but like the context. Who cares! I remember!” And Henry figures he must be making some kind of face as Alex frowns, “What, do you not want to kiss me? I mean if not, that’s cool but―”

“No!” he says, way too fast.

And Alex has an annoyingly handsome smirk and elbows him. “So you _do_ want to kiss―”

“No! I―yes?” Henry stammers through his answer, “I’m trying to say I don’t, or I wouldn’t mind! That I’ll follow through with your… Tradition.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear! So it’s settled then.”

“I guess so.” And Alex is smiling comfortably at him. He hopes that the one he returns isn’t as bashful as it feels. His tunnel vision is broken when someone distantly shouts that there are six minutes left. Henry is suddenly aware of the many people around them, and that many are taking out their phones. He remembers spending the entire month of January dodging questions in interviews with forced laughs. “Are we… Are we just going to do it here? At the bar?”

“I mean, I don’t see a problem, personally. Sorry, it’s no deluxe king sized mattress in Buckingham.” There’s visible confusion in his eyes; there are some dots he hasn’t connected.

“It’s not a matter of standards, it’s just… We spent a month dancing around rumors about the blurry gifs people made. We got lucky because it was just us in some quiet corner of this ballroom, but here? I don’t know. It just seems like an invitation for the press to hound us again.”

And Alex raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth in understanding as he finally puts two and two together. He surveys the plethora of young icons, each here for different reasons, proudly whipping cameras around to prove they were invited to the White House and are having a great time there. “Huh. I guess you’re right. Alright, follow me. We’ll find a place where like, we can still kinda party, but it’s not too much.”

With a solemn air of urgency, Alex gets up and surveys the room, presumably looking for somewhere to go. Henry can imagine an overhead layout of the room running in his brain, considering the current spread of people and which way they’ll be facing when the huge monitor hits zero. He turns back to him and tilts his head in a direction and sets off.

The two of them shuffle around the crowd and just to the exit. They don’t leave the room but instead find themselves standing in a corner in a short doorway. They’re concealed from most of the room.

“This seem alright?” Alex asks, leaning against the wall.

Henry gives him a shrug. He pokes his head around to see how much time is left. He has to laugh. “Are we really just going to sit here waiting for a timer to tell us when to kiss?”

“Yep.” They say nothing, and Henry has a hard time reading the situation. Is the silence comfortable or is something off? Alex looks comfortable. Henry doesn’t _think_ he feels uncomfortable. But then again, both of them are so used to pretending like nothing is wrong and yes, he wants this, but… Maybe he’s overthinking. Alex wants to kiss him, so it’s a win.

“Are you good at kissing?” Alex bursts after a strange minute of being stuck in their own heads. “I don’t remember what it was like last year. I want to know what to expect.”

“...No one has ever seemed… Dissatisfied, after kissing me? I’d like to say yes?”

Alex squints at him. “All of that is something that someone who is a, humble. B, unsure. Or C, an average kisser would say. So… Not bad, I’m guessing. Looking forward to it, Prince Charming. Give it your best.” And Alex winks at him again. It is never not going to make his heart skip a beat.

“Ah… Yes, of course. Am I supposed to say likewise? Ask you for your own assessment of your skills?”

“You already know the answer.”

“Do I?” The strange feelings rising in his stomach are settled as he’s able to tease Alex like he always does. “Please, remind me. I can’t say I understand what you’re talking about.”

And they bicker. Alex tells him about all the apparent rave reviews he receives about his kisses, and Henry mocks him in various high pitched American accents. He feels giddy and light listening to what Alex claims is the highlight reel, for a moment wonders where this kiss will fall in Alex’s ranking system. He feels cheap pride at his irritated admittance that since Henry is the only guy he’s ever kissed, he by default, is his best kiss from a guy. When Alex riots when Henry tells him just how many guys he’s messed with at uni and swears he’ll be better than all of them, his heart soars.

They miss the one minute announcement. And, the thirty second one, too. The lights flash with every second, just like last year. This time, Henry isn’t focused on that. It’s all background noise as Alex laces their fingers together and straightens out one of Henry’s lapels and holds on. Henry’s just waiting for zero as he wraps his free arm around Alex’s waist and follows his instinct to playfully pull Alex into him so that they’re just barely centimeters apart.

They laugh together at one and lazily connect for the first few moments of 2018.

It begins languidly. Henry is too busy relishing in the fact that Alex went on his toes, just a smidge, to meet him. He presses down so that Alex can stand fully on the ground and smiles against his lips. As indignantly as one can express while kissing, Alex reaches up to thread through Henry’s hair and press closer with an open mouth. He hardly conceals an airy sound of delight.

Around ninety percent sober, he can appreciate that Alex doesn’t taste strongly of alcohol, but of the marble cake he helped deliver, the berry tarts they taste tested a month ago, and something undeniably Alex that reminds him of something smokey and wood-burned. After they’ve already pulled away once for a quick breath of air, they’re still kissing. It doesn’t seem to be slowing down, and he hums as Alex’s brush through his hair turns into a hard grip. Henry doesn’t know when they’re going to stop, so he puts every scrap of energy into making sure this isn’t just a good kiss, but a phenomenal kiss before they pull away. He’s greedy and wanting, and he coaxes a weak sigh out of Alex that does _not_ go south, thank you very much.

It’s the fact that he’s ninety percent sober that makes him think he may be flying too close to the sun. A lot of the horn blares and cheers have stopped, and he’s sure that the only people that are _still_ making out after zero are real couples and the extremely drunk. Or both. And they’re neither.

Henry pulls away and shuts off the part of his brain that notices Alex follow him onto his toes again until he completely disconnects. They’re examining each other. He notices Alex’s flushed face, dilated pupils, the swell of his lips. The way that his eyes are flicking up and down from his lips to his eyes the same way he is. Their chests rise and fall as they catch their breath. Henry doesn’t know what Alex is thinking, but he can only hope he’s just as enchanted as he is.

“You… You are a good kisser,” Alex says. At last, he loosens his fingers in Henry’s hair and they slide down to the back of his neck. He’s probably seventy percent sober in comparison to his ninety.

Henry isn’t obsessed with how breathless he was when he said that. Of course he isn’t. Why would he be?

And he wants to make some comment to imply that Alex was only adequate and that it was not the five out of five star service he said it was. He doesn’t. He’s still high on the hard press of their mouths, the hold in his hair, and the sound that Alex made.

Instead, he remarks, “You succeeded in beating every guy from uni.”  They smile, but they don’t move. They still haven’t moved; he doesn’t intend on being the first one to move either. “That was a brilliant start to this, don’t you think?”

“Looking forward to next year already.”

“Until then, I guess?”

“Yeah, until then.”

Alex slowly peels himself off of Henry; the hand in his lingers.

The next morning, Henry hasn’t forgotten a thing.


	3. 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d like to apologize for this one taking longer to come out in comparison to the last one! i sorta fucked around with this one’s arrangement and scenes i don’t think i needed, and honestly, there’s probably still some stuff in here i don’t need? but ya know what, i don’t dislike it, and this isn’t professional so as long as it’s enjoyable who cares!!!!!
> 
> please tell me about my goofs though i finished it from my phone and am posting it from my phone so i’m not paying attention as much 
> 
> EDIT: thfkdkck tahnks for telling me i had the wrong year lmao

Bea complains that she hasn’t had the pleasure of drinking with her brother on holiday since Rio. Henry doesn’t miss the obvious subtext.

He dodges her proposals for the coming of the new year for weeks. She brings it up at odd times, whether it’s at the table or over the phone. His excuses vary. He says it’s too far ahead to think about. In December, decidedly not too far ahead, he says England is just boring. She suggests they go somewhere else, maybe Italy or Spain. Then, he tells her it’s too late now to find a nice place out of the way. Bea gently reminds him that they’re literally royalty, and whether they like it or not, it can be pretty useful when it comes to finding places willing to accommodate you last minute.

His final excuse is the day after Christmas. He admits that he’d rather go to America but insists that his hand in managing the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala was important for maintaining relationships.

“You mean your relationship with first son?”

If Henry were younger, or hadn’t already told Bea everything since they day he came home from the Olympics, he would’ve spluttered. But she knows, and probably has known why he’s been so hesitant the whole time. Bea knows about their kiss last year, and that they wanted it to be a tradition. She knows that Alex was apparently “looking forward” to kissing Henry again.

And since she knows, Henry only says, “Yeah.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” she pouts, poking him pointedly on is chest. “You’re head over heels for him clearly, but it’s been two years. I want this to work out, believe me, but you need to… You need to do something, okay? If he breaks your heart, better do it now than later. He’s still your closest friend. I don’t care if there’s a royal wedding or not, but I know you need him in your life.”

Henry doesn’t like that Bea had to lay it all out in front of him, but he’s glad that she did. She’s right. He loves Alex, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about it. Tell him, is what Bea is implying.

He tries to imagine it. His eyes close with a heavy sigh.

Imaginary Henry and imaginary Alex are in a bar, south of the palace. He sees them at Alex’s family’s summer lakehouse. They’re in his room in Kensington, and at Alex’s in the White House. In seconds, Henry imagines confessing his feelings to Alex in all kinds of places. He gets as far as the confession, Alex’s rejection, and stops at the ever sinking feeling in his heart with every iteration.

The last one he imagines doesn’t include a rejection. It starts out with a rush of passion, and excitement, and then a week later, a pack of NDA forms to sign, and then Alex is giving him the cold shoulder. Moody, distant, and uninterested.

That one is the worst.

“I know,” comes Henry’s late and tired response.

Bea glares at him before her eyes soften. She makes a long drawn out humming noise as if she’s considering if it’s worth it to say whatever it is she has in mind. With a final huffed, “Okay!” she crosses her arms impatiently. “I have one more proposal I think you’ll be far more interested in.”

“Which is?”

“You still don’t go to the Young America New Year’s Eve Gala, tragic I know. On the thirtieth, we leave. You accompany me to… Wherever I choose when you say yes, and―”

He gawks at her certainty. “ _ When _ ― _? _ ”

“ _ And _ ,” she interrupts, “you get a plus one. A plus Alex.” She stops to gauge his reaction. He tilts his head in curiosity as she carries on, “I get a plus one too, naturally, since you’re going to be swept off your feet and useless to me all evening, and I need someone to shout with when you start making out. My only condition is that the four of us can genuinely spend time together for two hours at least.”

“If I can actually get Alex away from the gala, then… Yes.”

At his answer, Bea hops in delight and swoops forward to give him a tight squeeze. She scuttles away, finally satisfied that she’s got the holiday with him, and leaves.

Meanwhile, Henry is left alone to try and figure out how the bloody hell he’s supposed to convince June and Nora, hell, maybe even convince  _ Ellen Claremont _ to let Alex ditch an event  _ he _ helped curate.

Shit. He hasn’t even told Alex.

“Would you be terribly bothered by the idea of ditching the New Year’s gala?”

There’s some shuffling on the other end. A mix of papers and fabric, Henry supposes he’s studying in bed. Alex makes a noncommittal noise, “I mean… The gala... Shit, I guess it depends on who’s taking me. And where. You don’t happen to know anyone with that sort of thing in mind do you?”

“Oh no. No one. No one at all, just my sister wants to haul her dear brother somewhere to share a glass one more time on New Year’s Eve. Said I could bring a plus one.”

“Where do y’all plan on going?” he asks with a faux overly interested tone. He’s in, Henry realizes and releases tension in his shoulders he didn’t know he had.

“Honestly, I don’t know. We leave on the thirtieth.”

“I’ll see you then!” Alex pulls the phone away from himself as someone enters the room. The audio changes as Alex puts the call on speaker and says, “June! Great timing, what if I don’t go to the Gala?”

He can’t see then, but Henry can feel the suspicious look she’s making at the phone and at Alex. “...That’s Henry, right?”

“Hello, June!” he chimes uneasily.

“Yeah okay, hold on I just―”

Miraculously, by some astounding feat of persuasion, Henry and Alex are in Paris for New Year’s Eve.

Their first day is really more of a first night. They arrive after sunset and Henry, Alex, Bea, and her choice of a plus one are on their way to the hotel. Alex is noticeably little more time skewed than the rest of them, and Henry is keen on pointing it out as much as possible. They’re trying to remember what cafe they ate at during their last trip.

They check into their rooms and drop their bags onto the one large bed. Likely Bea’s doing. Alex doesn’t seem to notice or mind that they’re going to share, so Henry doesn’t pay attention either. Alex, still feeling like it’s just late afternoon, wants to go out at 1:14 am, and Henry complies.

They start with a walk. Alex wants to stretch his legs; his flight was eight hours in comparison to their one hour flight. They’re strolling along the Seine, under the fusion of pale yellow light from the city and moon. Paris isn’t unfamiliar. Both of them have been here for international affairs and public appearances. For business. For the first time, the two of them are together in Paris as tourists. Henry pretends they’re no different than any other pair on holiday.

They push each other around, take each others’ hats and gloves and run for it, chasing each other down up and down the reflective waters until they move deeper into the city. They walk into the first cafe they find open and order cold drinks despite the fact that they’re already bundled up in layers of sweaters, coats, and scarves. They play silly games of I-Spy, and take candid photos of each other under yellowed street lamps.

Alex, wired from caffeine and the disconnect between his original and current time zones, turns to Henry as they adventure through streets they can’t name and tries to convince him to stay awake until midnight.

The idea dances through his head until 5am, where even Alex agrees that a luxury Parisian bed sounds nicer than standing on two legs.

So, they drag their feet into an elevator, fumble with keys, and fall asleep tangled together in their day clothes.

Henry wakes up first to a knocking at their door. His hand squeezes the fabric of a pillowcase as he yawns. He doesn’t remember either of them asking room service for extra pillows, but damn if this isn’t the best pillow he’s ever held. It felt warm and solid with the right amount of give. Henry loathes letting go. The knocking hasn’t stopped, though, so he sits up to stretch and finally opens his eyes with a tired rub.

At his hip, Alex groans. Ah. Alex was the pillow. Of course.

The knocking becomes incessant. The familiar voice of his sister pushes into the room. 

“Rise and shine, darlings! It’s time for a day out!” Henry and Alex silently argue over who should get up to tell Bea they don’t want to. It’s a battle of glares and sharp head tilted to the door, until Alex wins by turning to lie down face first.

“You guys aren’t still asleep are you?”

With a final roll of his eyes towards Alex, Henry pushes the covers off of himself at a snail’s pace before lumbering over to the door. It’s an arduous task to open it. “We’re… not in any condition to go out until later. We stayed up rather late.”

A hand flies over Bea’s mouth and her eyes widen. She tries to peek inside their room as she whispers, “Did you finally tell him? Did you finally tell him and really spend the whole night having loud and rowdy sex?”

That temporarily shakes Henry out of his fatigue. “What? No! No! No, we spent the night, and I guess morning, just wandering around the city.”

Bea, looking only slightly disappointed, clicks her tongue. “I suppose exploring the city of love at odd hours of the morning is about as romantic as you’re going to get until you decide to confess. Alright. We’re still going to get drinks together though, okay? Be ready at seven. We’ll go to a bar. Then, we’ll find someplace in Champ de Mars to watch the fireworks. It will be crowded, but we can elbow our way in. See you then?”

“Of course,” Henry reassures, offering an apologetic smile.

He returns to bed, and Alex is there laying there, propped up on an elbow in a warm set of pajama pants and a t-shirt with a union jack that Henry once bought him as a joke. He’s wearing his reading glasses. Henry does his best to not melt on the spot.

“Why did you even put them on? We’re going back to sleep.” Henry crawls over and snatches them off his face and puts them on his bedside table, out of Alex’s reach.

“Eh, thought we could talk or something. I’m tired, but like, not  _ that _ tired. Can I have them back?”

“No! You might just use them to read dull news articles, which you are not allowed to do on New Year’s Eve.”

“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t stay up if you went to sleep anyway. Wouldn’t be as fun. Hand’em over.”

Begrudgingly, Henry drops them in his hands and rolls back over again. After an alarm is set for 6:15, they fall asleep.

* * *

 

Bea is at his door at exactly seven and drives them to the bar, and her friend agrees to be the designated driver so that Henry and Bea can share their pint. It’s cozy, well lit, and Henry is glad that Bea swayed him to join her. They swap stories and embarrass each other in front of their friends. 

Friend, family, and a family friend drink together on a holiday night in Paris, and Henry relishes their presence in the bar and on the crowded lot of Champ de Mars.

They stick together until it’s just 5 minutes shy of 2019. He taps Bea on the shoulder and she gives him a knowing look and a nod before she distracts her friend so they can slip off to find a quiet empty space.

Except, there’s no quiet empty space because this is a public space in the tourist trap of France. In the end, the best they find is behind the crowd in the shadow of a tree. They cross-legged across from each other, Henry keeps his back to the crowd while Alex sits at the base of the trunk.

Alex looks impossibly soft with the spots of light threaded through the leaves. It’s artistic and sweet, and Henry is only a little disappointed because he can’t see the flush on his cheeks in the cold. But he can make out the way Alex pulls down his scarf, and the darting of his eyes. Alex parts his lips, and Henry hears the soft exhale, and though it’s too dark to see the frosty cloud of breath, he can feel it.

The count down hasn’t even started, and Alex is so,  _ so _ close. Have they been leaning in already?

Alex is looking at the ground, the crowd, the Eiffel Tower, and their hands where they’re not holding each other. Henry looks only at him, and he wants him to look back.

He takes one of Alex’s hands in his and uses the other the lift up Alex’s chin with a finger.

“Hey, I’m glad that I ditched, ya know? Like, I thought about not coming here, and I’m just sorta taking it all it, and I’m so glad I did. Tradition and all, right?” he rambles unprompted, when he’s forced to make eye contact.

And Henry just wants to know what else is going on in Alex’s head. He forms an absent response. “I… Yes. It’s… We’re lucky.”

Alex tries to turn his head away again, but Henry’s confused and his heart is heavy and strange.

“Dude, I can’t fucking look at you right now.”

“What?”

“We’re about to kiss in the city of love, and you really came out here with the audacity of being Adonis backlit by the lights of the goddamn Eiffel Tower. I  _ cannot _ look at you right now.

“Oh.” Henry suddenly feels awkward. He knew it was the city of love. Bea knew it was the city of love, and probably chose it for a reason. But Alex knew too, and that suddenly paints everything rosy. All night, everything they’ve been doing gains some odd unspoken romantic context, and this, sneaking out of camera view to sit under a tree and kiss at the new year, is pretty damn romantic no matter where you are. “Do you not...” he starts.

“If you think for a second I'm backing out of this, you’re wrong. I’m going to kiss you, and it’s gonna’ be fantastic and even better than last year.”

“Please. I’m waiting for it.” He tries to come off as playful, but it sounds more sincere than what he’d like.

“Really?”

Henry is hoping he doesn’t sound as eager and lovesick to Alex as he does to his own ears, but part of him thinks maybe Alex wouldn’t mind. “Absolutely,” he confirms.

“Well, okay. Good.”

At last, the countdown begins. The people begin counting down in French, and the hand under Alex’s chin slips to the side and then reaches under his scarf to feel the warm skin underneath. Alex shimmies forward, their knees touching, and now they’re so close that if either one of them so much as breathes wrong, their lips ghost over each other’s. 

Alex kisses him after one. Not, he notices, at the loud cheering of zero and “Happy New Year!”, but in that brief time span after. The kiss, despite its hasty initiation, is chaste. It’s slow and sweet, and Henry’s practically in secondary school with they way they’re sitting in the grass holding hands. They’re not closely pressed together like before. Henry wants to pull him closer or to lean over him just for the sake of feeling his presence, but he’s almost shy.

It’s not a bad kiss. Alex is physically incapable of that. Henry is simply struggling to comprehend how carefree and soft they’re being.

He translates the circles that Alex’s thumbs rubs over the back of his hand as “I’m comfortable with you,” and the deep and leisurely movement of Alex’s lips as “I wouldn’t do this with anyone else.”

And Henry would never claim to be an expert at reading body language, but Alex seems happy.

Not like the first kiss, where he wanted to fulfill a task, like checking off a box, and he was happy with the completion. Not like the second kiss, where it was all entertainment, thrill,  “What’s this like while not blackout drunk?”, and something that felt like a beginning.

He just seemed like he was enjoying himself.

“Why are you…” he mumbles against Alex’s lips before kissing him again. He doesn’t finish his question until they pull back for air. “Being such a tease?”

“You tired of it yet?”

“You’re doing this on purpose you little―”

Henry grabs a fistful of Alex’s scarf and pulls him in. It’s awkward, and they mostly just fall back. They both have to readjust themselves, and end up sitting side by side on the side of tree away from the crowd. It’s not what he’d like, but at least he can feel Alex’s shoulder against his. He holds his face with a gloved hand and curses the barrier between their skin. But, he enjoys the warmth of Alex’s incredible open mouth kiss.

The warmth is there for an unfortunate few seconds before it’s wrenched away. Henry, at least, he muses to himself, doesn’t dumbly follow the disconnect, which he is proud of.

Was the kiss better than last year? Probably not. But, it left Henry wanting infinitely more. That in itself is a feat. He’s been thinking for months, _ no one in the vast span of time and existence, past, present, and future, can compare their love to the love I have for him _ . 

He thought his love had peaked, but he supposed he should’ve known better. When Alex extends a hand to help Henry up and doesn’t let go until they reach the hotel room, he decides this love is a steep, endless rock face that he’ll never cease climbing. Henry just wonders when he’ll slip and fall.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you found that Funky Fresh
> 
> @zellymaybloom on tumblr, @zellymakesthings on tumblr for doodles, @zelly.doodle on insta!
> 
> if you have any suggestions or thoughts about intermediate scenes between the years lemme know and maybe i'll write them!! :P


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